Images inspired by Tom Stoppard's play 'Arcadia'. About growing up.

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My lips are locked in some basement room
and my back gathers dust on the moon
and my eyeballs are drying
in their hole under the sea

won't someone collect me
won't someone collect me
and face me towards Arcadia again

There was a time my body was built of wind.
I was young and I was ruthless
and I only cared for blowing birthday candles,
the skirts of virgins blushing
in their houses made of cards,
a killer and a catalyst,
indifferent as the sun.
I was so young.

But now I fear there is blemish
where there used to be bloom.
I feel the baby eyes of all I left behind,
of all I blew by, the sweetness of the blossom
choked the sweetness of the bud,
when you're small and pink and screaming
you're so easy to ignore,
and leave behind

So now I'm scattered, 'cross the forest and the sea
Someone stir me backwards, stir the milk out of my tea
Now I am the wreched earth
that swallowed every part of me
Now I am the desert and the desperate wanderer

I never thought my final words to you would be a plea,
Someone stir me backwards,
stir the years back out of me
I miss when the wind was kind,
when he would be the first to kiss me,
now he blows my heart around if ever I should try,

I never loved myself enough to kiss my face goodbye
And I lose pieces of myself each time I go outside
there's eggshells in the coffee
and there's spiders in the wine.